


Love is Suicide

by GarnetSeren



Series: Love is Suicide [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Non-Graphic Violence, None graphic description of torture, Rape Aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 15:03:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 13,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8451043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarnetSeren/pseuds/GarnetSeren
Summary: Feron was made to suffer for double crossing the Shadow Broker, and time soon became an abstract concept for him. However, after two years of torment from his former employer and colleagues, he is surprised to find that the woman he had helped to save, has come to return the favour. Told from Feron's PoV, written in UK English. Set after the events of ME2 & Lair of the Shadow Broker, but before Arrival. Title & story originally inspired by the Natalie Kills song of the same name.Warning: None graphic mentions of violence & torture. Implied male rape & assault. Implied depression & PTSD. Emotional hurt/comfort. Aftermath of rape & torture.





	1. You Can't Hide

The only noise that filled the dank room, was the sound of Feron's own ragged breathing. There was no light to penetrate the claustrophobic cell, and he lay cut and bruised, on the filthy blood stained floor.

The cold of the metal surface had long since seeped into his battered body, and pain tightened it's vice-like grip, as his shivering jostled the multitude of broken bones he'd suffered. With each tentative and painful breath, the acrid smell of his own blood clawed at Feron's nostrils. The odour roiled his empty stomach, and dry heaves made him bite back a shuddering sob of pain, lest he draw attention to himself.

Feron no longer knew how long he'd lain there in the dark; it could have been days, weeks, months... maybe even years.

Time had lost all meaning to him, trapped in the torture factory, that was the bowels of the Shadow Broker's ship. A concept only measurable in periods of torture, humiliation, fear, and broken sobs. Though the latter only happened once his captors left him, broken and isolated on the cold floor, for seemingly days on end. 

He vaguely thought that he might be currently enduring one such period, left to the mercy of his own eidetic memory, which could be just as viscous as the actual beatings... until he suddenly heard footsteps reverberating along the corridor; steps that only stopped once they were directly outside the door of his cell.  
  
Feron's breathing quickened, and rising panic forced him to choke on another sob, even though his shattered ribs screamed in protest.

Blinding light abruptly flooded Feron's vision, which left his sensitive eyes watering in pain and protest, whilst he tried to bury his face into the crook of his broken left arm. Cold laughter drowned out the sound of his erratic breathing, before a swift kick from a steel toe-capped boot, forced him sharply onto his back. That was quickly followed by the weight of a heavy foot, stamping down on his already broken wrist.

An involuntary scream ripped from Feron's throat; which only served to make his assailant laugh harder.  
  
"What a lovely greeting on this fine morning.”  
  
The Broker's freakishly large salarian enforcer dropped to a crouch, trapping Feron's damaged wrist with an armoured leg. Tazzik's other knee made crushing contact with his sternum, pinning him in place for whatever violence the salarian desired to do to him.

Desperately trying to remain calm, Feron struggled to gulp in air, as the flat surface of a knife blade was slowly stroked along his cheek frill.  
  
"Lucky for you, Feron, the Broker deems your face too pretty to do any permanent damage to," Tazzik jeered. "However, your body is mine."  
  
“Promises, promises...” he panted, insolently.  
  
“If the Broker wasn't so fond of your mouth, I'd rip your tongue out,” the salarian sneered.  
  
The tip of the blade ghosted down the thin skin of Feron's dewlap, before the biting edge of metal dug sharply into the scales of his torso. The pain was brilliant, however the enforcer's words cut deeper than the knife, as unwanted memories tugged at his mind.k

Feron knew, all to well, why the Broker wanted his face to remain the same... and the understanding made him nauseous.

When the blade plunged deeper, he fought to control the scream that wanted to burst from his throat, and tears escaped the corners of his eyes. Desperately, he tried to flee from the pain into more welcome solipsism, but Tazzik wouldn't allow it. The salarian rested more weight on Feron's battered body, and the knife suddenly sliced across his abdomen.

  
"I don't think so, drell." Tazzik snarled. "Bet you were trying to remember that asari. I wouldn't bother, you know that blue bitch never wanted you. Why would she? Why would anyone want a pathetic whore like you? She used you, Feron, then left you to rot here. T'Soni only cares about Shepard, not you. No one cares about filth like you.”  
  
As much as Feron loathed to admit it, the salarian's words were just the right shot to wound him further. Soon, fresh tears streaked the blood and grim that stained his face.

Even now, after the many weeks... months... that he'd spent as the Broker's _guest_ , Feron wasn't exactly sure why he'd left himself get captured. Of course, there was the obvious reason of allowing Liara to escape with Shepard's body. But did he do it for her, the long dead commander, or another reason entirely?

Not that any of it mattered at all, not now that he was a play thing for Tazzik's sadistic pleasures... and subjected to the whims of any of the Broker's loyal agents, who took an interest.

At that moment, another slash cut across Feron's chest, followed by a savage kick to his abdomen. The attack sent his constant pain into unbearable levels, and consciousness quickly slipped from his grasp.


	2. Cut Like a Knife

The almost comforting emptiness of unconsciousness, gradually merged into an unpleasant and hazy jumble of thoughts. His life was dissected for every mistake he had ever made, by his own traitorous mind.

Lately, Feron's attention seemed to focus on his downfall as a triple agent. On how he'd originally betrayed Liara, double dealt the Shadow Broker and Cerberus, before he had finally sided with the asari. Feron couldn't help but wonder if he'd eventually done the right thing, in letting himself get captured... but he must have done, surely?

He could very clearly remember how appalled he'd been, after learning what the Broker had planned to do with the commander's body.

Thanks to his eidetic memory, the thoughts replayed over and over, and during his rare lucid periods, Feron silently begged for a reprieve from the self-inflicted mental torture. Right up until his prayer was finally answered, by the crushing pain of his broken wrist being seized in a vice-like grip.

Feron sobbed into full awareness, ashamed he couldn't hold back the tears, as he was savagely hauled upright.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," Tazzik laughed. "Wouldn't want you to miss your weekly outing now, would we?"  
  
The sneer on the salarian's face, made him look like a rabid animal, and Feron's eyes widened in fear; as the horror of the words sank in. He knew what was coming... the second worst punishment he was forced to endure.

He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to stave off the memories of the worst. What was coming was bad enough, without _those_ sort of thoughts assaulting his mind.

There was a time, when Feron would have been disgusted with the pitiful whimpers and sobs, that escaped him involuntarily, as he was bodily dragged out of his barren cell and hauled into another room. But that had long since past.

As Feron was roughly strapped down to an operating table, instinct had him weakly fighting his tormentor. However, he'd known it was a futile attempt, long before the bite of a surgical scalpel dug into his tender wrist. Panic began to gnaw at him, and he tried to control his erratic breathing, as his perfect memory began to anticipate the agony that was about to follow. Unable to help it, Feron silently wept.  
  
After what seemed like hours, Tazzik finally seemed satisfied with the methodical removal of Feron's once stunning scales, and the amount of raw flesh that had been exposed.

In his mind's eye, Feron could well imagine the ruined state that his arms were now in, but even though the pain of the removal had ceased, any relief that the 'procedure' was over, was very short lived.

Feron found himself dragged from the operating table, and when his weak legs couldn't hold his weight, Tazzik backhanded him across the face; which left him sprawling in a broke heap on the floor. He blinked back tears, trying to block out the throbbing pain in his jaw and wrists.  
  
"You stink, filthy drell. Better get you cleaned up for your outing," the salarian goaded.  
  
Subconsciously holding his breath, Feron braced himself for the icy sting of freezing water that usually followed. It was one of the more inventive torments Tazzik had created. The sudden blasts of ice cold water, caused a volatile reaction with Feron's reptilian ancestry, and the shivering that followed painfully aggravating the unhealed bones of his body. Without fail, he would howl in agony; often to the delight of several loyal Broker agents, who would come to watch the spectacle.

However, this time was a little different, as rough hands quickly tied a coarse rope around his neck. Feron's eyes flew open in shock and fear, as the constriction around his throat tightened. His hyoid bone prevent any actual strangulation, but the restriction on his airways could easily cause him to pass out, and he tried in vain to claw at the ligature... which earned him several broken fingers.  
  
"Don't worry, drell. It's just to make sure you don't move," Tazzik snarled.  
  
Even though Feron continued to feebly struggle, he was soon hoisted up against a wall, with his toes barely touching the floor.

The rags that had once been his coat and vest, had been ripped away from him weeks ago, and now the tattered remains of his leather trousers were viciously removed as well.

Without warning, Feron was blasted with the first burst of frigid water, that left his teeth chattering and his abused body shaking. As he shivered, the rope around his neck began to tighten, and his breathing quickly became laboured. By the time the fourth shot of icy liquid hit him, Feron was barely able to gasp in tiny gulps of air, and darkness soon began to fill his vision.


	3. Love Me Like An Enemy

Feron slowly blinked back to consciousness, immediately wary and surprised to find he was not shackled into the Broker's favourite interrogation chair. Instead, he found himself cold and naked, chained to a rickety single bed in a dingy grey room.

His empty stomach dropped... he recognised the room, and realised what it meant.

Places that hadn't been particularly soar before, now throbbed painfully, and Feron soon realised where he was lying was suspiciously wet. He swallowed thickly, only partially glad that he'd been unconscious for the abuse... for once.

Tears began to well in Feron's eyes, and he fought to control his painfully erratic breathing, even as he tried to yank futilely on his bindings. He gave an involuntarily yelp, and quickly realised he had a dislocated shoulder, to accompany his broke arm and shattered wrist.

He sank into the grimy bed, utterly defeated.

At that very moment, the door to the depressing room hissed open, and in strode a slate blue asari; Janith T'Dolis. She was clad in only a black satin wrap, and bile rose in Feron's throat as he looked at her.

He'd dealt with her a handful of times before, back when he worked for the Shadow Broker. There were always rumours among the other agents about the ruthless asari, the most prevalent was that she was actually an Ardat-Yakshi. Feron had never known if there were any truth to the gossip, and he had never wanted to find out, which was why he had turned Janith down every single time they'd met... not that it seemed to matter any more.

“My dear Feron, I thought you'd like some company,” she purred.

“Already told you, not interested,” he sneered.

The asari simply tutted in reply, annoyance obvious, before she straddled his naked waist. In a desperate attempt to stop the inevitable, Feron tried to buck her off, only to be rewarded with a gleeful cackle, and sharp nails digging between his rather prominent ribs.

He hissed in pain, which was greeted by almost maniacal laughter. Her fingernails scratched up his dewlap, no doubt leaving angry marks in their wake, before Janith roughly grabbed either side of his head. Feron's heart began to race, and he swallowed audible, as the asari's eyes turned black.

“You don't have a choice,” she grinned. “I'm going to have _so_ much fun with you.”

Before Feron could do anything else, white hot pain seared through his brain, and everything went dark.


	4. Hearing Voices

A vicious electrical jolt ripped Feron from his unconscious state. His back arched away from the metal of the all too familiar chair, and the raw flesh of his wrists strained against the electrodes of the wrist cuffs.

As the shockwave subsided, and his body fell limply back into the chair, Feron closed his eyes and tried to remember when he'd got there. The last thing he could picture clearly was Janith, along with the blinding pain the asari had caused.

A flanging laugh echoed around the room, and Feron reopened his eyes to find a barefaced turian positively grinning at him.  
  
“Welcome back,” the guard chuckled. “And thanks by the way, Tazzik owes me a hundred credits. Stupid salarian bet it'd take you a week to come round.”  
  
Feron tried to ask how long he'd been unconscious, but all that came out was a hoarse croak, which sent the turian into another fit of laughter. Giving up, he let his head loll to the side, since the effort to hold it upright was too much for his abused muscles to manage.

Another agonising current of electricity surged through his body, and a scream was torn from him. When it finally subsided, Feron was left panting for breathe, with tears streaming down his face; though he still managed to register the unexpected call for back up, that was heralded through the ship-wide comm. link.

The turian guard curse vividly, before Feron felt the unexpected burn of a bullet tearing through his right knee cap. Unable to help himself, he howled in pain, and stupidly tried to kick his tormentor when the turian patted the injured joint. Since Feron's ankles were shackled just like his wrists, holding his legs spread open, the only purpose the retaliation served was to earn him a nauseating punch to his exposed groin.

“Now, now. I can't have you trying to run off now, can I?” the guard laughed. “I won't be long. Just sit tight, won't you?”  
  
As the turian left, he hit the dial on the chair's console, shocking Feron with a prolonged surge of electricity... one that was set at a much higher level than before.He screamed himself hoarse, before the current ended.It left him a shivering, panting mess, and tears flowed freely down his face.

Feron slowly counted to ten, trying to regain control over his ragged breathing. In on the first five counts, exhale on the latter. An infinite amount of time passed, as short bullet-like jolts shot into his nervous system at unpredictable intervals.

Mercifully, Feron realised that a hazy blackness was starting to creep into his vision; it was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open, despite the pain.

However something, some sort of noise maybe... or perhaps his name being called, started to pull at his mind. Feron heard it again, then a third time. He decided it was definitely a voice, one that he was rather familiar. When the sound came again, Feron was almost certain that it was his name being called.

Somehow, he forced his stubborn eyes to open, and could barely make out two bleary shapes on the catwalk above him... or was that three? One of the shapes looked blue.

“Liara?” he whispered, unsure.  
  
"Hold on, we're getting you out of here," the shape replied.  
  
Feron's eyes widened, first in shock and then in fear. He watched through a haze of tears, as the asari quickly looked away from him, and ran to the control console.

Humiliation washed over him, as he suddenly realised how naked and exposed he was; what a pathetic mess he must look.

Though the feeling was quickly replaced by a wave of dread, as the asari started to tamper with the control panel. Feron had hear plenty of times, from Tazzik and the other agents, how one 'wrong' press of a button could kill him instantly, whilst he was trapped in the chair. And even though he had occasional fantasised about crossing the sea during the past two year, now that rescue seemed a possibility, Feron didn't want Kalahira to claim him just yet.

He tried to shout a warning, but his throat was too abused to make much of a sound. Then jolt of electricity hit him, hard. It racked his already fragile body with such intense pain, that it ripped yet another anguished cry from him.

Feron's grip on consciousness began to get a little hazy, just before he heard a distinctly quarian voice mutter: “Keelah!”  
  
“Bastard!” Was hissed angrily a moment later, by another voice. “I thought it looked too easy.”  
  
It took all of Feron's dwindling strength to force his eyes to focus on Liara, as well as the two other shapes, which he eventual realised was a female quarian and human woman. A human woman with a shocking red hair, and distinctive black and red armour.

He didn't need eidetic memory to realise who he was looking at... or more precisely, who he watched jump from the walkway above him.

Commander Shepard pulled off her right gauntlet as she approached, and very cautiously, settled her hand lightly over his. Feron nearly wept at the gentle contact; he couldn't clearly remember the last time someone touched him, without intending to harm him in some way. It left him speechless, as he starred up at the commander, with something akin to awe clear on his face.

He painfully wished he had some way to hide his disgusting, emaciated body from her. She was a radiant angel standing before him, whilst he was bound in more ways than one, with a broken body and disconnected soul.  
  
“This chair plugs direct into the Broker's info network. You have to shut off the power. Pull me out now, and my brain cooks,” he whispered.  
  
Another current of electricity coursed through Feron's body; though even as he quaked with the aftershocks, he was thankful Shepard had managed to pull her hand away, before the shock could reach her.

However, he was surprised when her bare hand quickly came back to gently cup the side of his face. If he were in his right mind, Feron might have been ashamed of how he nuzzled into her careful touch, as she wiped away the newly falling tears.

But since he wasn't in his right mind, Feron choked back a sob instead, as a fierce blush of crept up his dewlap; shamed the commander was taking stock the extent of damage done to him.  
  
"Point us in the direction of that son of a bitch," she asked, a growl in her voice.  
  
"Central Operations, down the hall,” he managed to gasp. “The Broker will be waiting for you.”  
  
“I'm counting on it. We'll be back for you,” Shepard promised.  
  
When the trio were gone, Feron was left to wonder if the encountered had been real, or just a product of a dying mind. What was worse, was that he wasn't entirely sure which scenario was better.


	5. I Need A Miracle

After finally convincing himself that the encounter _had_ been real, Feron found the room suddenly plunged into darkness. The connection to the chair quickly died, and it was more instinct than conscious thought, that propelled his protesting body out of the torture device.

By the time the lights flickered back on, Feron was already hobbling out of the room. As he emerged into the usually barren corridor, Feron was greeted by dozens of dead bodies littering the metal floor. Shamelessly, he looted an Omni-tool from a nearby Infiltrator, before taking a pair of trousers from a still warm corpse a few steps away.

Gingerly, he tugged on the loose fitting combat pants, before giving himself a hefty dose of medigel. As soon as his damaged knee could hold his weight again, Feron collected a heavy pistol from the hands of a dead Sentinel, before finally stopping long enough to wonder if the power fluctuation meant that the trio had succeeded.

At that very moment, the voice of the Shadow Broker boomed over the comm. system, making bile rise in Feron's throat.

Barely managing to push past the agony that inhabited every part of his body, he began to jog towards the Broker's inner domain. All his torment and torture had only happened because he'd refused to let Shepard's body be handed over to the collectors. So even if it cost him his life, Feron wasn't going to let that happen now, not without at least attempting to put up a fight... and if he was luckily, the Broker would just kill him this time.

However, Feron was intent on at least getting one shot in, so he readied the pistol and burst into the central control room, only to be stopped short by the scene that greeted him.

Shards of glass covered the floor, white ash floated in the gentle current of the ship's ventilation system. Liara was speaking into the Broker's terminal, whilst Shepard helped the quarian check for suit ruptures. The pistol fell from Feron's shaking grasp and clattered loudly to the floor; thankfully no bullet was discharged.

“Goddess of Oceans, it's you! You... How...”

Even Feron wasn't sure if he was talking to Liara or the commander, as his gaze wavered between them both. His head spun, and he felt suddenly very woozy. Glancing down, he noticed that blood from his knee had soaked through the material of his trousers, and as he wavered on his feet, Feron guessed it wasn't a good sign.

Unable to stop himself, he felt his body begin to crumple to the floor, and tried to brace himself for the inevitable pain. So Feron was slightly surprised, when he still found himself on the floor, but with his head cradled in the commander's lap.

Her armoured legs weren't exactly comfortable, but the way her bare hands lightly stroked the back of his head and neck was extremely comforting. Though, through his haze, Feron couldn't help wondering who 'Chakwas' was, that the commander was suddenly shouting for.


	6. By My Side

The first couple days after Liara and the commander had stormed the base, Feron had only woken occasionally; from what he later discovered was a drug induced sleep. His bleary eyes had barely registered the gleaming white walls he was surrounded by. It wasn't until the third day, that Feron was conscious enough to discovere that Shepard had insisted he receive treatment onboard her ship.

On the fourth day, Chakwas; who turned out to be an ageing human female doctor, along with a salarian scientist, had finally decided Feron was well enough to have visitors. However, he was still confined to the hospital cot he lay on. Not that he really minded, since it was the most comfortable thing he'd laid on for two years... and he was still reeling from that piece of information.

Liara was the first to check on him, and Feron wasn't really surprised when she explained they were still docked at the Broker's base.

Next to visit was the quarian; Tali, who had helped rescue him, and hesitantly offered him an datapad preloaded with films. She was quickly followed by a human woman named Kelly; who was aparently a psychologist. However, Chakwas quickly sent her away, when it became abundantly clear that the woman's unusual cheeriness and physical gestures, only served to heighten Feron's anxiety.

The next several hours passed quietly, which allowed him to somewhat collect himself, before a green scaled drell had entered the medical bay. Feron had been shocked to see another of his kind, but had quickly appreciated Thane's calming company.

It was rare to meet someone with similar life experience; having both served under the compact in their youth, and the two spent a few hours reminiscing, before Thane finally offered to teach him some breathing techniques.

Then as dinner time came and went, Feron soon discovered that the day had been much more tiring than he'd realised. And even though he'd hoped the commander would visit, he quickly succumbed to a fitful sleep.  


* * *

  
It was late into the night shift when Feron stirred again, and he almost jumped, when he discovered Shepard reading silently beside his bed.

He blinked his double lids twice, trying to make sense of the woman in front of him. She looked nothing like the fearsome commander that the whole galaxy knew as the Butcher of Torfan.

Sure, she still had the jagged scar, that ran down the left side of her face, stretching from temple to jaw... rumoured to be from her escaping slavers as a young teen on Mindoir. However, Shepard's vivid red hair was currently pulled back from her face, and she was clad in an oversize grey t-shirt that read: 'I delete problems like you on the way to real errors', in bold purple writing. This was teamed with a pair of pyjama bottoms that were so pink, they were almost neon.

Squinting, Feron was certain there were tiny 'Blastos' dotted all over the material.

Shepard was also bare foot; the heels of her feet propped up on the edge of her chair, and a shade of shocking green was painted on her toe nails. Her face was scrubbed clean, devoid of the smoky make up Feron had last seen her wear.

She was currently worrying her bottom lip between her perfect white teeth, seemingly annoyed with whatever she was reading... which Feron hoped wasn't his medical report. Regardless, he quickly realised he'd been starring, and hoped he wouldn't be caught before he could look away.

Of course, that was the exact moment Shepard looked up from the datapad she'd be absorbed in. The smile she gave him was positively beaming, and caused the corners of her startling green eyes to crinkle.

She was stunning.

“How many planets do you think I have to probe for palladium, before I can cite Miranda to the council, for cruel and unusual punishment?” she asked. “Or that she finally forgives me...”

Her inane question startled an unexpected laugh out of Feron, which made his ribs twinge in protest.

“What are you being punished for?” he asked, cautiously.

“Commandeering the Normandy, and storming the Shadow Broker's base,” Shepard grinned, before adding: “I'm actually thinking of becoming a pirate. Jack's idea.”  
  
The way she said it, was like that explained everything... perhaps it did. Feron wasn't sure, but it made him smile all the same. After that, they fell into a surprisingly comfortable silence, and he soon drifted back off to sleep.

He woke in the morning to find no sign of Shepard, but a datapad propped on his lap.

It simply read: **forty five**.


	7. Reaching Out

Unable to help himself, Feron's foot bounced erratically, as he failed to get his unexpected nerves under control. Being back on the base wasn't really helping him; even with Liara as the new Broker, but he had nowhere else to go. And now, he could hear voices just the other side of his door. The asari's was a given, but Feron hadn't expected to hear the commander, and his stomach twisted in a way he couldn't explain.

He wasn't sure why the Liara hadn't mentioned her friend's arrival; since it had been several weeks since they'd left the haven the Normandy provided. But then again, perhaps she had, and he just hadn't paid attention; since he often found himself lost in solipsism. It had gotten so bad, that in the weeks following his rescue, Feron had taken to... well, there really was no other word to describe it other than hiding, in the audio-visual suite.

With the room being located behind the Broker's private quarters, it meant he didn't need to interact with the other agents, which saved him from accidentally running in to any of his previous tormentors; since he hadn't had the courage to identify them to Liara yet. In truth, he hadn't seen another living soul... apart from the asari, since returning from the Normandy. Which was the way Feron preferred it.

The legacy of his torment was all too visible. The scars that littered _every_ inch of his body would likely never fully heal, though thankfully, Chakwas had managed to repair all of the internal damage and broken bones. However, Feron's body still throbbed and protested constantly, since his nervous system was still recovering from prolonged exposure to electricity.

It was why he couldn't control how his foot bounced, or the way his hands often trembled.

Feron had also found that he was always cold now, most likely thanks to Tazzik's 'washing' methods. Though it probably didn't help that his body was still far too sensitive, for him to wear his customary leathers, despite Thane being kind enough to purchase a set for him.

Instead, Feron was force to wear light weight linen trousers and soft cotton shirts, which had been a surprising recommendation by the commander's pilot; Joker. Feron had never asked the human why he'd known they'd be comfortable, but he had to admit, the light weight material was much kinder to his healing body.

However, the shirts often left too much of his scarred torso bare for Feron's likely... which was certainly the current case, especially now that the commander was here. If he'd known, he'd have forced himself into his leathers, pain be damned. Instead, Feron self-consciously tried to hide as much of his battered body from view as possible, whilst the door to his hideaway suddenly swished open.

The commander entered the dimly lit room with her customary, confident swagger. She looked _so_ good; dressed in basic blue jeans, a simple white tee, and her red hair pulled over her shoulder in a way that reminded Feron of a braided rope. Her eye make up was surprisingly neutral, though her lips were painted a shocking hue of fuchsia pink.

Feron fidgeted with the collar of his shirt again, before trying to stand to greet her. Every inch of his battered body screamed in protest, especially a viscous scar that ran from between his shoulder blades down to his coccyx, with the damaged scales twisting and pulling painfully.

Despite his best efforts, Feron gave an involuntarily wince, and Shepard was in front of him in seconds. His whole body trembled with exertion, and he knew the commander could feel it, when she lay a gentle hand on his shoulder. Feron's stomach coiled itself in a way that had nothing to do with pain or forced starvation, and he found it suddenly a little hard to breathe.

“Shepard, I'm glad you stopped by,” he managed to say.  
  
And it was true, Feron _was_ glad to see the commander... why else would his stomach try to tie itself in knots, whenever he merely thought of the her. However, he hated Shepard seeing him so weak.

He was no more than a beaten, broken husk of his former self. He may still have his looks, thanks to the previous Broker's 'good graces', but his body... Feron barely managed to repress a shudder. What was left of his body repulsed him; he touched it as little as possible, and flinched whenever anyone else tried to touch him, even Liara.

Well, everyone except Shepard, apparently. Her touch just made him tremble, and Feron couldn't tell if it was from fear or desire.

A few years ago, before the whole disaster with the former Broker, Feron would have been cocky enough to try and charm the Saviour of the Citadel. He'd have been fairly confident that his good looks, and well defined body, would have gotten him at least a second look... enough of a chance to lay on his extensive charm, at least.

But now... now he was just a hollow mess of trembling limbs, scarred flesh, mangled scales and recurring nightmares. Feron knew he had nothing to offer any woman, let alone one of Shepard's calibre... not to mention the standard of prospective partners that she was surrounded by, day in, day out.

“Take it easy, you've been through a lot.”  
  
The surprisingly gentle tone of the commander's voice caught Feron off guard, and it pulled him out of his reverie. He blinked at her, before the hand that still rested on his shoulder, gave a soft little push. He wavered for a moment, before his legs pathetically gave out, and he all but crashed into the plush cushions of the purple velvet sofa behind him. Feron swallowed audibly, as he once again tugged at his collar, certain that it was exposing too much of his marred torso.  
  
“You're... probably right,” Feron conceded, begrudgingly. “I... uh... never did say thanks for the rescue.”  
  
Shepard smiled but shook her head, before slowly lowering herself to the seat beside him. She was close, but not uncomfortably so. He could almost feel the heat that she radiated, though not one part of her body touched his.

Feron's heart thumped loudly in his chest, at the sight of her kind smile. He knew that the commander was an astute and observant woman... she wouldn't have had such an illustrious military career otherwise. So he was fairly certain that Shepard had already noticed at least a dozen indicators, that his body was unwittingly broadcasting, about the state of his mental and physical health. But was that the only reason she was being so... careful with him?

In the back of his mind, Feron couldn't help but wonder if she knew the real extent of what happened to him. Chakwas had promised discretion and patient confidently, but Shepard was the doctor's commanding officer, and could feasibly pull rank to see the files. She could easily know every detail, about all the physical wounds that he'd been left with, inside and out, thanks to the former Broker's 'hospitality.'

The thought that the commander could know what fuelled some of his darker nightmares, made Feron's stomach churn alarmingly. His heart began to pound, and the room began to spin. However, Shepard lightly touched his shoulder again, just as his breathing became laboured. The gentle touch efficiently derailed his dark thoughts.  
  
“You know, Liara never gave up on you, Feron. I just helped,” she said, softly.  
  
“I'm still amazed Liara came for me,” he admitted, quietly. “I'll never forget what _either_ of you did.”  
  
As the commander gave a very gentle squeeze to his shoulder, Feron's gaze snapped up from the spot between his feet that he'd been staring at, and momentarily locked with Shepard's vivid green eyes. It didn't last long, until his attention fell to her plump lips.

He sucked in a shuddering breath, unable to tear his attention away. Time seemed to have ground to a halt, as Feron's gaze flickered between Shepard's eyes, and her all too kissable lips. He had no idea what he was thinking, but suddenly found himself leaning forward. His pulse thundered in his audio canals, and an unexpected heat began to spread through his body, when he realised she wasn't moving away from him.  
  
“I can log that in the archive for you, sir.”  
  
Feron all but jumped from his seat, and turned to glare at the intruder. Unsurprisingly, the drone didn't notice his incredulous mood, and continued to hover just off to the side. Shepard gave a chuckle, the sound somewhat self deprecating, before she sighed slightly.

The previous moment had completely disappeared, and Feron couldn't help but wonder if it had simply been wishful thinking on his part. At least until he heard Shepard mutter: “Bloody bot!”, not quite under her breath. To Feron's surprised, the commander sounded a lit perturbed, and he felt oddly smug about it.

He chuckled dryly, shaking this head, before gesturing to his biggest annoyance since returning to the base.

“I see you met the secretary.”


	8. I Need You Right Now

It was the middle of the night cycle, and Feron simply couldn't sleep. His eidetic memory kept repeating the moment he'd shared with Shepard, just before the drone had interrupted them.

He hadn't expected to want to kiss her as much as he had... as he _did..._ especially after what he'd be subjected to over the past two years. However he wanted to, desperately so. And despite what logic dictated, when Feron carefully went over the memory, it seemed that Shepard might possibly return his interest.Which was ludicrous, because what could the stunning commander find appealing about a scarred and pathetic whore like him?

Especially when there was that dark skinned human male on her ship, or the bearded pilot who she bantered with constantly, maybe even the red haired engineer with the thick accent, who she played Skyllian Five with. And if she wanted something a little more exotic, there was the turian who barely left her side, not to mention Thane, who was one smooth son of a bitch.

Shepard could have the pick of the best, so it was baffling that no matter how many times Feron examined the memory, the commander always seemed just as invested in their moment as he was. And not only was it baffling, it was frightening.

Feron couldn't deny that he found the commander attractive, but what if she _did_ return his interest? What if she wanted more than he could give? And what if he managed to push passed his fear, only for her to be repulsed by the state of his ruined body? What if she actually found out the true extent of what had happened to him at the Broker's hands, at his agents' hands... what if that alone disgusted her? Why would humanity's finest want a worthless whore like him?

These thoughts had spun around and around in Feron's brain, until they'd forced him out of his bed... a pathetic lonely cot, that Liara had finally agree to set up in the audio-visual suite for him.

He first headed to Central Operations, but when he couldn't find a distraction in the myriad of data streams, Feron decided to finally venture into the empty corridors... despite his better judgement.

He wandered aimlessly, until he reached the gym. The rhythmic sound of fists pounding against padded leather stopped Feron in his tracks, and his heart began to thump erratically in his chest. He _knew_ it was a mistake to roam the silent corridors, and he was undoubtedly going to pay the price for his stupidity.

Cautiously, Feron peered through the open doorway; hoping to discretely weigh up his unwanted opponent, in order to devise the best escape plan possible. However, he was surprised to find none other than Commander Shepard; the cause of his sleepless night, furiously attacking a punching bag.

With the Normandy still docked with the Broker's ship, Feron hadn't expected Shepard to remain onboard... never mind finding her clad in black yoga pants and a sports bra, fingerless gloves on her hands, and her red hair tied high back from her face.

As Feron watched how Shepard's hair swayed with each movement she made, a small smile formed on his lips. He decided to allow himself a moment to admire her; hoping to store the memory away for a lonely night, in the distant future, when he might feel brave enough to touch himself again. Really, he only allowed himself a heartbeat of indulgence, before he turned to leave, only to come face to face with someone he had hoped to never see again.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

Janith gave him a feral grin, and it took all of Feron's willpower not to whimper pitifully, when the asari forcefully backed him up against the wall. She chuckled darkly, as one had clamped painfully over his mouth, and the other began to paw at him mercilessly.

Without much effort, Janith tore open the thin cotton shirt he wore, before her sharp nails scratched new gauges in his ruined torso. Feron gave an involuntary sob, as the asari ground against him. He tried in vain to wriggle from her grasp, only to have a sharp knee to the groin wind him. Tears collected in the corner of his eyes, as Janith harshly grabbed his chin, and force him to meet her eyes.

“Perving over Commander Shepard? You dirty whore,” she sneered. “You think she's going to be interested in a slut like you? Especially after she hears about how you _begged_ and pleaded when we toyed with you. You know, the Broker recorded those sessions, I'm sure the spectre would _love_ to see you writhing beneath anyone who would take you.”

Feron's heart beat loudly in his chest, and the tempo of his breathing rapidly increased, especially when he realised he couldn't hear Shepard's rhythmic punching anymore.

Panic coiled in his gut. As much as he wanted it to end, to get as far away from Janith as possible, he didn't want the commander to discover how pathetic he was... didn't want her to see how weak he really was.

For a moment, Feron hoped that Shepard would use the gym's other exit, and leave him to suffer the abuse without a witness, especially was Janith crashed her lips roughly against his. He grunted in protest, as she roughly groped him through his trousers, and once again trying to escape her hold. Though the attempt was short lived, when the asari was suddenly no longer grinding against him.

Feron blinked open his eyes to find a furious looking Shepard, pulling Janith back by the fringe, before she punched the asari hard in the face. Feron slid helplessly to the floor, desperately trying to get his erratic breathing under control, even as the former Shadow Broker's agent tried to retaliate against the commander. It was a wasted effort, because Shepard effortlessly caught the punch, twisting the asari's arm and stepping behind her back.A heartbeat later, a sickening crack rung out through the deserted corridor, and Janith's lifeless body slumped to the floor.

Through his panicked haze, Feron thought he saw the commander's eyes flash an eerie red, as she muttered something about: “thanking Thane for the lessons later”.

If he'd been in his right mind, Feron might have wondered what she meant... or at least been aware and ashamed of the way he shrunk back from Shepard, as she crouched down in front of him. Her eyes fell to his exposed torso, and Feron sucked in a shaky breath, as he crossed his arms over his chest in a vain attempt to shield himself.

Sighing wearily, the commander dragged a hand across her face and moved to stand, which left Feron blinking back unexpected tears. Her very obvious rejection stung, even though he had expected it... after all, why would the pinnacle of the human race, be interested in a cheap whore like him? He didn't need to look at her, to know the look of disgusted that would be on her face.

However, when the commander didn't walk away, Feron chanced a cautious glance at her. Shepard stood, hands on hips, staring disdainfully at the corpse. She sighed again.

“Glyph?” she called into the comm. link. “Can you send someone to take out some trash by the gym? If anyone asks, tell them the bitch was stupid enough to attack Commander Shepard, and paid the price.”

“Of course, Shadow Broker,” the drone replied.

Shepard snorted humourlessly, before she turned back to Feron. He looked away from her quickly, but not fast enough to avoid the look of concern she was giving him. He swallowed thickly, his heart still hammering in his chest, and barely managed to stop from flinching, when the commander offered him her hand.

After a moment's hesitation, Feron accepted, and she easily helped him to his feet; though he was unable to control his reaction, as his whole body stiffened, when her arm carefully slid around his waist. Silent tears slid down Feron's cheeks, as Shepard patiently waited for him to relax, before they made their way slowly back to the audio-visual room.

Once inside, Shepard gently deposited him on the plush sofa, before she left without a backwards glance.

Now alone, Feron fought against the on-slaughter of solipsism; convinced the commander couldn't bare to be in the same room as a pathetic and disgusting whore like himself... that was until she returned. A bowl of water and a wash cloth was clutched in one hand, a towel and a clean cotton shirt in the other. Quietly, Shepard set the items down on either side of Feron, before dropping to her knees in front of him.

Unable to help himself, Feron silently cried, as she gently peeled the tattered shirt from his equally ruined body.

In the tentative hush that fell on them, the commander attentively cleaned the blood from his scarred torso; her touch light and respectful. By the end of it, once she had helped him into the clean shirt, Feron was a quivering sobbing mess. Shepard didn't say anything, but that night, he cried himself to sleep in her arms.


	9. Falling Now

Feron woke up the next morning alone. Even though it was expected, the sting of rejection hurt almost as much as the pounding in his head; not that he had time to contemplate it, when there was a light knock at the door.

Carefully, he pushed himself into an upright position, silently cursing himself for not suggesting they moved from the couch to the bed last night. Not that it really mattered, with Shepard presumably long gone... but it might have helped the crick in his neck.

Slowly, on still slightly shaky legs, Feron made his way to answer the door. He sucked in a startled breath, as he came face to face with an asari, and he struggled for a moment to fight the solipsism that threatened to wash over him. Though his fear was quickly pushed aside, once he realised it was Liara who stood before him. His friend gave a polite cough, before she pushed a datapad into Feron's hands. He pointedly ignored the worried look Liara gave him, and tried not to recoil when she cautiously touched his forearm.

“Shepard told me how you helped last night, after Janith attacked her. Thank you,” Liara stated.

As she smiled at him, a little hesitantly, Feron reeled at the implications. Shepard had lied to one of her most trusted friends for him, to protect him. She had given him an excuse for why he was acting so jittery and despondent, without forcing him to talk about what really happened.

Feron might have just fallen a little in love with the commander right then, if he wasn't already worried that he already had. And as he processed what Liara had said, Feron barely had the presence of mind to ask where Shepard actually was.

“She got a call from Zaeed first thing. Something about his lieutenant discovering some unsanctioned Blue Suns movement. She's taken her crew to investigated,” Liara explained, before she gestured towards the datapad. “She left a message for you though.”

Feron blinked at the datapad clutched in his hand, whilst Liara turned to leave; not quite concealing the amused smile that was pulling at her lips.

Choosing to ignore it, Feron wandered back into what had become his room, and sat down heavily on the sofa. He inhaled deeply, regretting it immediately, as the fresh scars pulled taught across his chest. He rubbed gently at his scales, hoping to alleviate some of the discomfort, before building up the courage to read Shepard's message.

He wasn't sure what he'd expected, probably some sort of rejection letter, even though nothing had really happened between them. Instead, Feron found the unexpected gift of her personal contact information. She had sighed it as 'Shep', and left a post script note: **You're cute when you're asleep**.

Feron chuckled wryly at the revelation, before steeling himself. Shepard had left her details for a reason, and if he didn't reply now, he knew he'd lose the courage later. So as quickly as he could, Feron typed out a short reply, before closing his eyes and hitting send.

* * *

 

In the next star system over, Shepard's omni-tool unexpectedly alerted her to an incoming message. Smiling apologetically at her companion, she flipped open her tool to read the alert.

Her smile morphed into a slightly silly grin, which pulled a chuckle from her usually stoic friend. So when Thane held out his hand, in a silent request to see the message, Shepard didn't hesitate to turn her wrist to show him: **I guarantee it doesn't compare to your beauty.**

Thane smiled at her indulgently. “I hate to be cliché, Siha. But I told you so.”

Shaking her head, Shepard laughed. If it hadn't been for him, she would never have dared to reveal her budding attraction to Feron. In truth, if it hadn't been for Thane's gentle prodding, Shepard doubted she'd have even acknowledged her feelings in the first place.

Feron had been through so much, and she'd originally agreed with Liara; worrying anything other than friendship would be taking advantage of him. However, after Thane's reassurance that she wasn't acting inappropriately, Shepard let her gut instinct guide her... even though she constantly asked her friend to analysis her recounted behaviour, after every interaction she had with Feron.

Thane's constant reassurance left Shepard feeling like she was standing on slightly firmer ground, despite how fraught some of her encounters had been with the other drell... like last night. Though considering the message she'd just received, her friend's advice and encouragement was well founded.  
  
“I bow down to you infinite wisdom, Sere Krios,” Shepard grinned.


	10. Out of My Mind

“How you holding up, Feron?”

It was a small miracle that he didn't jump at the unexpected sound of Shepard's voice, especially since he had been lost in the breathing practises, that Thane had taught him.

Slowly, Feron stood from his seated position on the floor; as an unexpected wave of relief washed over him. A month had passed since Shepard had last been onboard the Broker's ship, and despite having her contact details, Feron had barely spoken to the commander.

So he tried not to seem too eager to see her, tried to play it cool, like he would have once upon a time. Shepard was so out of his league, it wasn't even funny... but his infatuation with the human just wouldn't end.  
  
“I'm...”  
  
Feron's voice trailed off and his composure shattered, as he finally looked at her. He swallowed audibly, and his hands began to tremble as he starred at Shepard.

The scar she'd received from Mindoir as a teen, was as much a part of the commander, as her vivid red hair and startling green eyes. But the same could not be said for the new scar that bisected her right eyebrow, and seemed to have barely missed damaging the organ below.

Feron itched to go to her, to pull the commander into his arms, and quiet frankly fuss over her. Instead, he stayed rooted to the spot. To her credit, Shepard practically ignored his gaping, seemingly unphased by the obvious attention, and actually rolled her eyes at him.

Without waiting for an invite, she crossed the room to flop onto the sofa. She lounged back in her seat, before raising her scarred eyebrow at him. Not for the first time, Feron marvelled at her confidence, as he studied her relaxed form. Today she wore black combat pants and boots, with an ash grey tank top. The new scar was vivid and angry against her pale skin, but the commander somehow seemed to be wearing it like anyone else would wear an accessory. She was a marvel.

“You are...” Shepard prompted, patiently.

Feron offered her an almost sheepish smile. “I'll be alright.”  
  
“Certain? Liara just told me they've finally dismantled that bloody chair.”  
  
Sighing, he sat down beside her. “I wasn't always strapped into it.”

He wasn't completely sure why he'd said that; Shepard had helped Liara rescue him, after all. She was the one who had approached him, whilst he'd been strapped naked to the damned chair. She'd seen with her own eyes, that his punishment had extended much further than the electric shocks.

Just last month, Shepard had been given a peak into the full extent of his treatment, at the hands of the previous Shadow Broker and his agents. And if the dark look that clouded her face was anything to go by, the commander was recalling her encounter with Janith in prefect clarity. For a moment, her gaze fell to the dozen or so scars that were visible around the collar of his shirt, and Feron's heart began to beat faster.

The first tendrils of panic began to crawl up his spine. Even as he tried his best to keep his breathing even, his fingers began to nervously play with his collar.

“Drell can mentally escape into old memories,” he added, hesitantly. “It came in handy on the bad days.”

The smile Shepard gave in reply was bittersweet. “I know. Thane's told me about your eidetic memory.”

“Thane?” Feron asked, flatly.

“Yeah...” Shepard's smile faltered. “I've been helping him record some... messages, I suppose, for his son. In his own words, his time is short. He wants to leave Kolyat some memories of his parents during happier times.”

“You care for him?” he asked, dreading the inevitable answer.

Shepard nodded. “Greatly. He's a very dear friend.” She paused to sigh. “I just hope his wife _is_ waiting for him, when he crosses the sea.”

Feron let go of the breath he didn't realise he was holding, and blinked at the commander. As much as he was saddened to hear of his friend's loss; especially as it wasn't unusual to hear of a drell remaining faithful to a deceased spouse, Feron couldn't help the wave of relief that washed over him... he hadn't stood a chance if Thane was his competition.

Then again, Feron really doubted he stood much of a chance with the commander anyway.

He bit back a sigh, unsure of what to say, even as his eyes roved over Shepard's face. The scar was really distracting. Without any real concious thought, Feron blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“So what happened to your face?”

He visibly winced, desperately wishing he could take back his thoughtless comment. Feron knew all too well how vulnerable and self-conscious scars could make you, and even though she seemed confident, he had no idea how Shepard really felt about hers.

He met her eyes nervously, fully expecting the commander to be angry at him. If he were honest with himself, Feron could admit that he braced himself for her to lash out at him, since he really deserved it. However, he was surprised to find her regarding him calmly; a smirk pulling at her cranberry painted lips, and her injured eyebrow raised.

Several heartbeats passed, before Shepard's facade cracked, and she out right laughed.

“I really need to learn how to duck a batarian's bloody knife!”


	11. Can't Sleep Tonight

Deep into the night cycle, when the only people who should be awake worked the graveyard shift; and even Liara had long since retired to bed, a quiet knock sounded at Feron's door.

If by some miracle he'd been asleep, the gentle rapping wouldn't have roused him. Though as luck would have it, he'd been staring though the darkness at the metal ceiling, for the best part of two hours.

Biting back the urge to groan as his slowly healing body protested, Feron rolled off his cot, and managed to only stumble once, when he tripped over his discarded boots. As he reached the door, he mumbled for Glyph to bring the lights up to 30 percent, before he adjusted his rumbled shirt and palmed the lock.

To Feron's surprise, he found Shepard waiting for him, with her hands suspiciously held behind her back. Before he could ask her what was wrong, she brandished two distinct bottles of asari Honey Mead. The commander's grin was infectious, and chuckling quietly, Feron stood back to let her in.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Shepard shrugged. “Company? I'm heading out at eleven hundred hours. Aria's forwarded locations of some suspicious drop points. We need to hit them up, before the Bloodpack get to them.”

“Aria... as in Aria T'Loak?” he asked, incredulously.

The commander shrugged again. “She's not so bad, once you get to know her.”

Feron considered Shepard's revelation for a moment before deciding that no... he didn't even want to go there. Whatever had occurred to forge a friendship between the self-appointed CEO of Omega, and the first human spectre... well, Feron had to admit, he probably didn't have the mental capacity to process the information.

Especially since it was taking all his mental capacity, just to process that the commander was currently curled up on his sofa. Her red hair was messily piled on top of her head, and she was wearing distractingly tiny navy blue shorts, with an oversized pink tee; that proudly proclaimed that she'd attended this year's annual hanar poetry slam. That fact alone was already baffling him, so Feron was sure he wouldn't be able to handle the story about how she made friends with Aria.

Deciding to playing it safe, he shook his head instead of answering. Shepard grinned, almost as if she'd expected that reaction, before simply passing him one of the bottles of wine.

“So back to your earlier question. I wanted some company, and only the most handsome man on the ship would do.”

His eyes watered, as he tried not to splutter and spit out the mouthful of mead he'd just taken. Whatever reason Feron had been expecting Shepard to give, it certainly wasn't that, and he vaguely wondered if she was trying to kill him.

Despite knowing the commander was only teasing, her comment made a blush slowly rise up his dewlap; flushing the normally olive coloured skin, into a vivid emerald hue. Feron wasn't sure how much Shepard knew about drell anatomy, but he hoped against hope, that Thane hadn't revealed that particular evolutionary trait.

It was already going to be a hard enough task, to remind himself that the commander's flirtations were nothing more than light hearted banter; like she did with all her friends. He really didn't need Shepard to realise she was genuinely affecting him... that would just be mortifying.

So wanting to keep up the tiny scrap of a confident facade, that he'd managed to scrape together, Feron wracked his brain for a witty retort, though failed miserably. Luckily, it didn't seem the commander expected him to reply.

“I also have a question I've been burning to ask,” she continued, smiling.

“Go on...” Feron replied, cautiously.

Shepard took a generous swig of her alcohol. “So how did you and Liara both end up looking for my body?”

Feron blinked at her, once again surprised. “Cerberus head hunted both me and Liara to steal your body from the Shadow Broker. I was working for the Broker at the time, and he's the one who scraped up your remains in the first place.”

The commander looked at him for a long hard moment, before Feron realised his poor choice of words; he silently cursed himself for being so stupid and insensitive. He was just about to stutter a pitiful apology, before he heard Shepard mutter almost under her breath, something that suspiciously sounded like: “I'm too sober for this”.

Much to Feron's surprise, he watched the commander put the bottle of Honey Mead to her lips, and the contents were gone in a only few gulps. She sighed almost contentedly, then suddenly stretched out her legs out.

Feron stiffened slightly, as Shepard's toned calves settled across his lap, before she raised an eyebrow in question. For a moment, it felt like his brain had finally short circuited, though he still idly managed to notice that her toe nails were now a bright metallic gold.

After taking a few hearty gulps of his own alcohol, Feron drummed up the courage to settle a hand gingerly on top of Shepard's leg. The creamy expanse of thigh was awfully tempting, though he went for the less risqué option of her shin. To Feron's secret delight, the commander didn't seem to mind his rough scales across her silky soft skin. If anything, he was almost certain that the corners of her plump mouth were beginning to curl upwards.

“What turned you against the Shadow Broker?” she asked.

“He started working for the collectors,” Feron answered, honestly. “You... weren't their first victim. I am... was... and information trader, not a slaver.”

Shepard nodded. “You're a good man, Feron.”

“Hardly,” he muttered.

In concise movements that Feron certainly hadn't anticipated, the commander discarded her empty bottle, before she quickly moved to kneel on the cushions beside him. Unable to help himself, Feron froze, even as a gasp escaped from his lips.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he desperately tried to get his suddenly panicked breathing under control... she was so close, that he could feel her warm breath skitter across his cheek frill.

The still coherent part of Feron's mind cursed at having a living angel within his grasp, only to have his eidetic memory try and drown him in unwanted solipsism. But it was a losing battle. His heart thumped heavily in his chest, as fingers lightly traced his jaw, before slowly trailing up and down his dewlap. Feron braced himself, waiting for the sharp sting of nails that would sink into his tender flesh at any moment... but after several minutes when no pain came, Feron reluctantly cracked open his eyes.

He almost sagged in relief, when he was met with the sight of Shepard, simply regarding him quietly, with a patient smile pulling at her soft pink lips.

“Welcome back,” she whispered.

The ministrations she'd been giving Feron's neck quick vanished, as the commander picked up one of his limp hands, and pressed the tips of her nails into his upturned palm. Once again, even though he tensed, no pain came.

Shame began to wash over Feron, especially when he suddenly realised that other than where their hands touched, no other part of Shepard's body was pressed against his. She might have been close enough for Feron to feel her body heat, but she'd kept distance between them. Trying to hide his humiliation, he turned his face away, only to have her hand gently stop the movement. Once he was reluctantly looking at her again, Shepard held up her nails for his inspection.

“Blunt,” she stated, calmly.

Gently, Shepard took both of Feron's trembling hands, stroking her thumbs over his knuckles, as she moved to straddle his thighs. She kept her weight balanced on her knees, even as she placed his hands on either side of her waist, before moving her own to lightly rest on his shoulders.

Feron's brow ridge furrowed, neither area held cultural significance or erogenous zones for them, so for a moment he wondered why she bothered. Then, he slowly blinked at her, as realisation finally began to dawn...

Shepard's waist was a 'safe' place for him to touch, as were his shoulders. There was no expectation, no demand. She was simply letting Feron know that she was happy for him to touch her, but also telling him that he didn't have to... that's why she'd let go of his hands. He shut his eyes, and let out a shaky breath.

“If you don't want this Feron, I go,” Shepard stated, gently.

A whimper of protest escaped him, and despite feeling foolish and pathetic, it was a sound he couldn't have controlled even if he'd tried.

“Look at me,” she requested.

When Feron reluctantly did so, he was surprised to find Shepard smiling at him kindly. He'd expected to find disdain, or perhaps even some perverse amusement staring back at him... since that was what he was use to. But all he found was a look of understanding in her vivid green eyes; not for the first time, Feron briefly wondered what had happened to Shepard, back on her home planet. Though those thoughts were quickly chased away, as she pressed a feather light kiss to his cheek frill.

“If you do want this but change your mind, we stop. No questions asked,” she promised.

Almost of their own volition, Feron's arms encircled Shepard's waist, and he buried his face in the junction where neck met shoulder. He took several gulping breathes, but ultimately lost the battle to keep his emotions and tears at a bay... he'd never expected Shepard to want him, never mind be so understanding.

Silently, Feron sobbed harshly into her creamy skin, and all the while she merely held him tighter.

He wasn't sure how long had passed, until his tears finally ceased, but eventually the tremors that wracked his body had died down to an intermittent tremor. As Feron's ragged breathing began to steady, he started to press a multitude of kisses along Shepard's throat... it was the only way he could think to say thank you to her.

Slowly, so slowly that Feron barely noticed, Shepard lowered her weight, until she was finally seated across his lap. He unconsciously tensed at the contact; his heart beating erratically in his chest, and the commander made to move immediately. Just as she'd promised. However, regardless of the rising anxiety, Feron refused to relinquish his hold on her. Shepard was there, in his arms, and he refused to lose it to his past.

The commander sighed, a sound that seemed part affection and part frustration. She wound her arms around Feron's neck, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Despite his best efforts, Shepard's sweet touch left him trembling in her arms.

“Breathe,” she instructed, her voice soft and calm. “Just breathe.”


	12. Fill Me Up

Nothing further had happened that night; they simply fell asleep together on the couch again. In the morning, Feron was surprised to feel Shepard lightly kiss his forehead, then she left the room... he didn't get to see her again, before she went on her mission.

Another month had passed, by the time Liara announced that the Normandy should be docking with them, in the next few days. Feron almost wished the asari hadn't told him; he was eager to see Shepard again, but equally nervous... terrified actually, if he had to be honest with himself.

Feron had a lot of spare moments to think about the last time he'd been with the commander, and he was still angry at himself... or at least his eidetic memory... for warping Shepard's gentle touches, into something so ugly.

During the past few weeks, Feron had realised he yearned for the red haired human, which only heightened his anxiety. Before everything had happened, he liked to consider himself a proficient lover. But now, even Shepard's lightest touches managed to turn Feron into a sobbing mess... and not the good kind. He was disgusted with himself... his body and mind.

There was a very real chance, that if the commander showed any interest in him this time around, he would break down on her again.

He was sure to disappoint her, and long before a single item of clothing needed to be removed. Feron repressed a shudder at the mere thought. If even he couldn't stand to look or touch his body, how could he ever expect Shepard to do so. Then again... there was also a very real possibility that he'd blown any chance he had with the commander anyway.

With the same thoughts played over and over in his head, layering anxiety on top of anxiety, worry churned his stomach. So he opted to stay sequestered in the audio-visual suite, even when Glyph had finally announced Shepard's arrival.

The night cycle was slowly creeping toward the dawn, before the commander found him. Or to be more accurate, before Shepard had entered the communal showers, and almost bumped into him. Then again, Feron doubted that she noticed _him..._ rather the patchwork of exposed skin and scales that covered his torso; that had once been swirling patterns of colour.

Not for the first time, Feron was glad he'd managed to keep his disfigured lower half covered; ever since he'd escaped the chair, at least. Though that did little to help how his blood began to thunder in his aural canals, even whilst he clumsily tried to pull his shirt back on. It didn't mattered to Feron, that he hadn't managed to shower yet, since the type of dirty he felt couldn't be cleansed by conventional methods.

Feron whimpered in frustration, as he continued to fight with his shirt; angry that a piece of clothing was thwarting his plan of escape. The tangle of fabric became increasingly claustrophobic, and he soon sank to the floor, defeated, and desperately tried to gasp for breathe through the rising panic.

Then suddenly, gentle hands carefully began to untangle the mass of cotton that surrounded him. As soon as he was free, Feron desperately wanted to snatch back his rumbled shirt, in order hide his hideous body. He was unable to meet Shepard's gaze, even when she sat beside him on the cold tiled floor... he couldn't bare to see the look of horror on the commander's face, now she finally saw the extent of damage that covered his hideous torso.

“I thought drell used sand baths,” she stated, conversationally.

It took longer than he'd like to admit, for Shepard's words to sink in. But what she'd said, didn't really make much sense; not in context to their situation at least. The topic had nothing to do with the warped scales and twisted scars, that littered his body, and Feron blinked at her in surprise... it took several more seconds for him to realise he was supposed to answer.

“No supplies,” he mumbled.

“You're friends with the Shadow Broker,” Shepard countered.

Feron sighed, defeated. “I didn't want to bother her.”

“Lucky I brought you a present then.”

He blinked at her, and only felt more confused when she chuckled ruefully. Without another word, Shepard fluidly rose to her feet, before offering him a hand. Feron let her help him up, and sucked in a surprised breath, when she unexpectedly pulled his shirt back over his head.

Unable to help it, his whole body trembled, as Shepard's fingers lightly grazed his sides, as she adjusted the cotton. Despite being dressed again, the experience left Feron feeling strangely exposed and vulnerable... left off kilter by the unexpectedly intimate gesture. And once the sleeves were adjusted properly, Shepard trailed her fingers down to his hands, before stepping backwards and giving Feron a gentle pull.

“Come on,” she smiled.

“Didn't you want a shower?” he asked, confused.

Shepard shrugged, smiling. “It can wait.”


	13. Pick My Poison

“How do you think Liara is doing, as the new Shadow Broker?”  
  
Feron's brow ridge furrowed, confused by Shepard's conversation topic. It was so at odds with their current activity, that he forgot to hold his posture rigid.

As a result, an unexpected shiver ran through him, as she gently rubbed a handful of warm sand down his spine. Feron's back arched involuntary, and he failed to bite back the small moan that escaped him.

Sucking in a breath, he squeezed his eyes shut; waiting for the reminder of what a wanton slut he was. It usual came in the form of him being roughly thrown onto the nearest surface, often the floor, before he was shown what a whore he really was...

However, when all he felt was gentle hands slowly smooth warm sand along his shoulders, Feron cautiously cracked his eyes open. The woman behind him gave a soft hum, before her hands slid over his shoulders, and spread the sand across his chest.

All at once, realisation dawned, and Feron remembered that the woman who touched him, was non-other than Commander Shepard... the woman of his dreams, smoothing bathing sands she'd purchased for him, across his damaged scales.  
  
Unable to help himself, Feron sighed and dropped his head back in relief; leaning against her midriff, that was left bare by the work out clothes she still wore.

Her attentive fingers caressed the scales that ran up the back of his neck, and another quiet moan escaped Feron, when Shepard's hands moved to rub sand along his sides.

However, he had to repress a tremor, when her fingers ghosted over a vicious scar, that snaked around the right side of his rib cage. When she paused to ask if he wanted to stop, Feron shook his head vehemently. It had taken several false starts for him to build the courage he needed, to let Shepard simply _see_ his body... at least some of it... never mind allowing the commander to touch his exposed scales.

Now that he had Shepard carefully caressing his butchered torso, Feron didn't want her to stop. Despite his nerves and anxiety, her touch felt good... more than good, but also comforting at the same. It was confusing, but thinking about it didn't help, so Feron attempted to focus on the question Shepard had just asked.  
  
“Ever since we repaired the network, Liara's been glued to the achieves,” he stated. “I've caught her sleeping at her desk more than once.”  
  
“Doesn't surprise me,” the commander replied, smiling.  
  
“She's busy, but I think she likes it that way,” he agreed.  
  
They lapsed into a surprisingly comfortable silence for several minutes, and Feron finally began to relax under Shepard's careful touch; until she unexpectedly knelt down in front of him.

Even though his knees instinctively parted to allow he closer, Feron all but held his breath, as she smoothed the warm sand across his abdomen. He tried not to flinch whenever Shepard's fingers brushed over a scar... but there were a lot of them. Though that paled in comparison, to when her touch got a little too close to his waistband for his comfort.

Even though Feron knew Shepard wouldn't do anything he did agree to, he couldn't help flinching. Of course, the commander noticed. She raised an eyebrow in question, but he shook his head quickly. No, he didn't want her to stop. What Feron wanted, was to just get over what had happened to him.  
  
“You know, Liara didn't stop looking for you for two years,” Shepard said, kindly. “You two must have been close...”

Shame made a fierce blush creep up Feron's dewlap. “She's a good friend, better than I deserve. So... are you.”

“Friend huh?” she smiled, mischievously. “It's a start.”


	14. Kill Me Like You Do

After Feron had managed to pick his jaw up off the floor, Shepard had simply continued to help him bathe; and since the commander was acting like she hadn't just said something earth shattering, he tried relax into her gentle touch.

The warm sand had soothed some of his aches, and helped to polish his scales... even managing to soften the edges of many of his scars. Surprisingly, after Shepard had brushed his torso down with a dry buffing brush, Feron found it a little easier to move. Which was a relief. 

He even managed to stop from curling in on himself, when he noticed Shepard _really_ looking at his bare upper body. Though it had taken several minutes longer for Feron to control his rising anxiety, and realise the commander was actually looking at _him_ , not the scars... _admiring_ him even.

Feron swallowed thickly, as his heart began to beat faster, and his mouth went dry... but this time, the reaction had nothing to do with fear. As Shepard helped to towel him off, Feron mustered the courage to attempt to return some of her caresses.

Even though his advances were pitiful, simply running trembling hands up and down her arms, Feron couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped him, when Shepard didn't reject him. He marvelled at the way her skin pebbled at his touch, and the soft smile that spread across her blush pink lips. And once he'd noticed her mouth, Feron couldn't look away.

He almost jumped when Shepard's fingers lightly caressed his jaw, and his scales practically tingled in the wake of her gentle touch. Tearing his gaze away from her plump lips, Feron suddenly realised how close they were.

He could see the blue flecks in her eyes, that he'd always thought were pure green. The warmth of Shepard's breath skitted across his face, and he could smell the musky perfume she favoured. Almost in a daze, Feron reached for the elastic that currently held the commander's hair from her face, his hands shaking the entire time.

At any moment, Feron expected Shepard to stop him... to push him away; and he couldn't help breathing another sigh of relief, when her vivid red hair finally fell loosely around her face and shoulders.

Unsure if he'd ever get another chance, Feron took a moment to admire Shepard's beauty. Even with her scars, she was stunning. His hand lingered on the back of her neck, whilst both of hers moved to cup his face. Gently, she ran her thumbs along his cheek frills, and once again, Feron's gaze fell back to her lips.

“Well...” she breathed. “Are you going to kiss me?”

Without any conscious thought, Feron surged forward, whilst at the same time pulling Shepard to him. Their lips collided, almost painfully, and a desperate sound escaped him. Tears built up behind his tightly closed eyes, whilst the commander softened in his embrace.

It took Feron a moment to realise Shepard was purposefully moulding herself to him; surrendering control to him. He choked back a sob, which came out as a whimper against her pliant lips. He couldn't believe the gods had granted him such a blessing, a fiery angel who had blazed into his life and set him free... a Siha.

A few grateful tears escaped, even as Feron's breathing stuttered, when Shepard gently ran her fingertips along his jaw, and down his dewlap.

But suddenly, Liara's voice came over the comm. system:

“I'm sorry if I'm interrupting anything, but Shepard, Joker's just contacted me. Seems you have a priority incoming vid call from Admiral Hackett. It seems important.”


End file.
